Humanity's Battle
by Azalea419
Summary: Clove Easton is a trained murderer. Cato Braxton is a merciless killer. But somewhere beneath the blood is a boy and girl with living, beating hearts - hearts capable of a love that could destroy the world. Humanity is crumbling. Love is their only hope.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, yeah. I re-uploaded chapter 1 because I thought this would make more sense if I squished a few chapters together then threw some Cato at you too.**

**So now you have Clove POV and Cato POV.**

**This might help explain somethings in the late future :)**

**Thank you so much for reading this and I really hope you enjoy it. I would really appreciate some feedback, opinions, or just general comments.**

**Summary:**

**Clove Easton is a trained murderer. Cato Braxton is a merciless killer. But somewhere beneath the blood is a boy and girl with living, beating hearts - hearts capable of a love that could destroy the world. Humanity is crumbling. Love is their only hope.**

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Chapter 1

Clove was not a believer.

She did not believe in God. What God would allow the ruthless murders that ruled Panem's entertainment policy?

She did not believe in faith. What use was faith if sin ruled the world?

She did not believe in happiness. Why would anyone wish for happiness when there was nobody to share it with?

She did not believe in luck. Wasn't luck just the bastard son of coincidence and ill fate?

She did not believe in love. What kind of love came from a man and woman that conceived for the sole purpose of teaching that child how to kill?

But she did believe in death.

Clove Easton knew death like the back of her hand; the very hand that dealt death with a graceful flick of the wrist.

Death was her oldest friend. Death was her only friend.

She stared down at the glistening red liquid the dripped from the edge of her favorite knife. Her father had given her a knife on each birthday, this one being the latest for her sixteenth. The sleek silver blade was recently polished and sharpened, glinting dangerously in the little bits of moonlight that peered through the dirty window. The handle was thin and unadorned, save for the Capitol insignia inscribed near the bottom, a sight that made her stomach tighten in disgust.

A drop of blood appeared on the windowsill and Clove stared at it silently. Blood fascinated her in a strange, twisted way. In the dark of the night with just a sliver of moonlight, the perfect circle of blood looked purple, a beautiful, regal purple. In the bright daylight of the sun, blood screamed a violent red with just a dash of yellow-orange. Against the pale skin of her wrist, blood was a murky red marred through with streaks of brown and black.

"Clove!"

Startled out of her morbid thoughts by that voice, Clove yanked the sleeve of her blouse over the thin red line on her wrist and dove into the dark blue sheets of her bed, pressing her face into the pillow and hastily arranging the covers around her body.

As the door was wrenched open, slamming against the offending wall, Clove clenched her knife under the pillow with controlled irritation.

"Clove!" A hand yanked the warm sheets from her body, snatching up her wrist in a bruising grip, "Get up, you useless piece of shit."

Clove let go of her knife as the young man dragged her roughly out of bed, nearly yanking her arm out of her socket. Barely stifling a hiss, Clove moved with the cruel movement, having long ago learned not to resist.

"What do you want?" Clove tried to keep her voice neutral, barely able to suppress the fury and contempt she could feel roiling in her limbs.

Clove gazed up into the face of her older brother, Aaron, imagining the knife under her pillow was in her hand and she was driving it deep into his abdomen, twisting it just to see the agony that would be splayed across his face.

Aaron barely glanced at his little sister, shoving her towards the door, "Clean up my mess before Dad gets home."

Clove said nothing, grinding her teeth so hard she was surprised her jaw didn't break. One day, one day, she would be able to cut his throat and watch him suffer without the threat of their father looming behind her back.

As Clove crept silently down the stairs, relishing the feel of the weathered wood beneath her bare feet, she could hear the familiar sounds of sobbing from the living room. She didn't bother to turn on the lights, having done this countless times before. Aaron's latest victim lay sprawled in front of the giant flat-screen, where he always left them after he was done with them.

With stiff muscles and clenched fists, Clove maneuvered around the broken girl on the floor, opening the grate and feeling for the knob just on the inside of the opening. As she turned the dial, fire sprouted from the darkness, alive and brutally revealing.

The girl had ceased crying, her hiccups punctuating the cold silence in the Easton house. Naked and shivering, she slowly sat up, tangled blonde locks falling into her wide blue eyes. Her face was deathly pale and she shook in terror as Clove glanced her way.

"You need to leave." Clove steeled her voice to be as emotionless as possible as she used the stoker to lift the ragged pieces of clothing off the floor.

"W-what are you doing to my clothes?" the girl croaked in a hoarse whisper.

Surprised, Clove answered without thinking, "Burning them."

None of them had ever had the strength, nor spirit, to speak after Aaron was done with them. Clove allowed herself a second glance at the girl.

The girl stared straight back with soulless eyes that made Clove stiffen and look away. Ugly bruises dotted her ribs and thighs, blood trickling from a gash near her hairline. Nothing on her face, arms, or legs to indicate any type of abuse.

Leave no visible evidence, Aaron was good at that. Clove shoved the rest of the fabric into the fire and hoping the girl would have some sense to just _leave_. She fetched a bucket of cold water from the sink, grabbing the sponges she'd learned to leave at the back of the left cupboard for situations like this. When she returned to the living room, the girl was gone, much to Clove's relief.

This was her life, cleaning up after Aaron's despicable games. Her mother looked the other way while her father supplied Aaron with tools, as if he was proud of the monster his son was becoming. Klaus Easton was a formidable man, having won the 70th annual Hunger Games with his ruthless machete. He dominated his family with an iron fist. Ever since she had been little, her father had mapped out her whole life based on the Hunger Games. It was all train, train, train, train for the Hunger Games. And the one thing that he'd beaten into every bone of her body was the notion: Kill or be killed.

So, at the tender age of sixteen, Clove's petite, graceful figure, luscious brown hair, and forest green eyes were all conditioned to hide the malicious killing intent Klaus Easton had drilled into her very being.

Nobody ever looked close enough to see past the blood, the layers, the masks, to see the fragile heart that hid behind the locked, steel, impenetrable wall she'd built.

The heart that contained all her insecurities, her fears, her worries, her dreams, her joys, her _humanity_.

Sixteen years of death, blood, and darkness had weathered that lock to glass.

This was the moment.

A blade, a drop of blood, one last depravity, could crush that lock and demolish any remaining warmth inside her soul and the darkness would set forth to mutilate her.

A kiss, a touch, a look, could shatter that lock to finally release that potential of love, a love so great it could destroy the world.

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**Just to clarify, Clove is not a cutter. I had her cutting herself in this chapter just to tie it in with her fascination with blood. She is by no means depressed or wanting pain, she just wants to see the blood against her skin.**

**It's almost like she's thinking, "I wonder if my blood is the same as everyone else's. Does my blood look the same as when I'm murdering someone else and spilling there blood?"**

**She is not weak, I am not making her weak, ok? hahhahaa. Just so you know.**

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When Clove returned with the bucket sloshing with freezing cold water from the sink, she discovered that for some reason, Aaron had decided to clean up after himself this time. The carpet was no longer saturated with blood like it always was after the game and the tripod behind the couch was gone, locked away in the attic again. He'd probably taken the camera into his room to replay and replay his sick, twisted little fantasies.

It had been like this for a little over a year, ever since Aaron lost his chance to volunteer for the annual 73rd Hunger Games. He'd been this bitter, nineteen year old monstrosity ever since and developed this repulsive game to earn back the approval of their furious father.

The first night Aaron had brought a girl back home, raped her, beat her, videotaped it, then left her there; Clove was awoken by the most chilling of screams. For the first time in her life, Clove was afraid; afraid to hear the desperate insanity in each scream, devastating pain rippling through the sound so that it twisted and clawed at the steel walls around her heart.

Hours later, when the screaming had _finally_ stopped, Aaron had barreled into her room, dragged her from her bed, and forced her to clean up the horrific scene downstairs. She'd learned not to feel anything for the girls Aaron had lured into his trap, cleaning up quickly and efficiently.

The first few times she'd retaliated, he'd threatened to do the same to her. Clove wasn't afraid of his empty threat; their father would never let Aaron damage his killing prodigy. But Aaron was good at things like getting her meals taken away, breaking her training knives, and just overall being as intimidating as possible.

But Clove had learned not to be afraid of her brother. He was nothing. He couldn't even make it into the Hunger Games. But Aaron despised his little sister because he had fallen from grace to leave her the coveted pride of the Easton family. Clove knew how to twist Aaron's mind into insanity. She knew his shame and knew his fears and she wielded them just as gracefully as her deadly knives.

In reality, Klaus Easton was the only thing preventing between the Easton children from ripping each other to shreds. In a sense, they're hatred of each other was fueled on each side by a push here and a lift here from their father and then they were at each other like rabid dogs. Clove knew he only kept them around for his own entertainment. The day was coming when he'd put them both in a room and only Clove would come out alive.

She yearned for that day.

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Cato liked to believe that he was the bloody, brutal Cato that everyone else saw him as.

He was vicious, heartless, and completely merciless.

But it hadn't always been that way.

Unlike, Clove, Cato had been born with the capability to love and to be loved.

There was no one in the world that Cato loved more than his mother. Sweet Lysandra Braxton was a dainty little thing with the fiercest of tempers. Angelic blonde hair and baby blue eyes hid the stubborn and strong heart within. Lysandra was like a ray of sunshine in Cato's life. She liked to belt out random lyrics in a horribly out-of-tone voice, yet her lullabies were gentle and soft, the kind Cato liked best when he was little. She doted on her only son with fervent maternal love, drilled into him the precious gift of love, kindness, and happiness.

Cato was happiest when he was with his mother.

His father, Edward Braxton, was a shadow within the early stages of his life. Cato didn't see much of his father except for the constant presents of swords and the private training he was always required to undertake in the afternoons.

And because he didn't really know him, Cato didn't really hate his father.

Besides, after training, his mother would take him out for ice cream and sometimes, if she was in one of those times of inspiration, she would let him paint with her. Cato's favorite room in the house was the piano room, where the walls, floors, and ceilings were covered in the brushstrokes of the incredible evenings he spent with his mother. She taught him how to play the piano so that she could dance and paint while he played her favorite pieces.

As much as Cato loved his mother and her gentle arts, he was a man at heart and he did take an interest in training. He loved the power and handsome grace that came with the art of the sword. He took no pleasure in killing, but he had pride and he did want to make his father and mother proud. And the only way to do that in District 2 was to be in the Hunger Games.

Other times, when Lysandra was too busy to spend time with him and baby him, Cato envied the other boys who spent time with their father, sparring and crafting and all sorts of boy things. As the executive director of the masonry institute, Edward Braxton had little time for leisure.

But the rare times that Cato did spend time with his father was when he would stop by the training center to check up on his son's training and Cato would work extremely hard just to earn that precious moment of acknowledgment.

Then the world changed when his mother became pregnant. _A baby girl! Cato, come feel mummy's tummy. This is your little sister, Cato!_

_She's the most precious thing in the world, after you, my handsome Cato._

And because he saw how great his mother's love for the unborn baby was, Cato developed a fierce, almost frightening dedication to his unborn baby sister. He loved the baby for all that it would be, because his mother had given him the capability of that love. He spent all his time helping his mother build the nursery room, set up the crib, and _oh_, paint the walls! Little birds and flowers and trees and all the baby things Lysandra constantly talked about.

Even before the little Braxton girl was born, nobody could possibly have loved her like Cato did.

And then the world changed again the night six year old Cato discovered he was a coward.

_He gripped the little basket in his small hands and kicked the little pebbles out of the way as he made his way home. Finally, finally, mummy had trusted him to get the bread by himself. He was a big boy, he could go out by himself and he wanted to help her as much as possible since she was pregnant. A flood of warmth clutched at his young heart as Cato thought about his unborn baby sister._

_When she was born and mummy said it was ok, Cato would bring her to the backyard and show her the swing __**he'd**_ _made by himself and they would play in the sand together and he would make sure she didn't eat any of the toys and that she wouldn't get her dress dirty before dinner and then he would show her his swords and then she would clap and giggle and love him just as much as he loved her._

_A scream and then a scuffle startled Cato out of his thoughts and he held the basket tightly as he went to investigate. His heart was pounding too fast and his hands trembled as he approached the alley where the scary noises were coming from. _

_He was glad he'd taken his newest sword without mummy knowing. Maybe there were bad guys in there and he would rescue whoever it was and then when his little sister was born, he'd tell her the story proudly and then she'd look up at him with the cutest little blue eyes with pride and wonder. Yes, he would do that. He would be a hero._

_When Cato rounded the corner and the street lamp illuminated the shadows in the alley, he dropped almost dropped the basket in shock._

_Three large men stood over a shivering, sprawled body on the concrete, her white dress torn and blood-stained. His mummy was wearing white dress that looked like that today, too! Cato forgot the sword and the basket as he recognized the mason's uniform on each men. They worked in the masonry, maybe under his father._

"_Stupid, bitch."_

_One of the men roughly grabbed the woman's legs and another her arms, effectively trapping her in between them._

"_No, no, please, stop!"_

_Cato was struck with bewilderment as he recognized his mother's voice. But he'd never heard the terror and pain in the pleasant voice that always sung him to sleep. Cato was just about to charge forward with his sword and show these men just how trained he was when one of them pulled out one of those loud things the Peacekeepers always held. _

"_Shut up, whore."_

"_Maybe this time, Braxton will listen to us, the bastard."_

_Looking back on this moment, Cato didn't know why he didn't react or why he didn't do anything, but that was just the way it was. Maybe, if he had done things differently, he would have been a different person. But things happened the way it did and that night, Cato discovered his cowardice._

_He stood rooted to the spot in bone-trembling fear as the men first raped and then murdered his own mother._

_Then when they were done and she was dead, Cato finally moved, tripping in his haste as he scrambled back up the street and back home. He hid in his room, clawing at the tears that tracked down his cheeks and horror, pain, fear, disgust, and fury clashed inside a heart too young to understand._

_And that night, Cato's belief and capability in love was destroyed._

Of course, four years later, after careful planning and patient waiting, three mason workers disappeared from District 2 without a trace and a sword went missing from Edward Braxton's collection. Cato through himself headlong in his training with an appalling dedication, ruthless and undeterred. At the age of twelve, Cato was the strongest. At the age of fourteen, Cato was the best of the entire training center. The only thing left to live for was the Hunger Games, his last and only choice.

He would kill anything and anyone.

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When he was six years old, Cato lost the two most important people in the world and with them went his will to love.

All that was left was a massive shell filled with blood-lust, fury, pain, and mindless cruelty.

But one does not simply lose what has been instilled in him since birth. Brought up by a tender woman, Cato was not at all cruel and insensitive to the female species. In all honesty, he tried not to have anything to do with them. But if Cato had any kind of soft-spot, it would have been for Clove Easton.

Raised as a gentleman, Cato Braxton was constantly surrounded by a hoard of girls falling at his feet for his handsome structure and heart-shredding smile. Although he turned down nearly every girl that had the courage to approach him, he was stiffly kind and gentle, a quality that just made all the silly girls in District 2 love him more.

He was irresistible and unattainable.

Normally, Cato would never have paid an inch of attention to a little thing like Clove, but they had not meant under normal circumstances.

_Eight year old, Cato cursed under his breath as he rubbed away the blood on his torn knuckles. Walking back from the Training Center, Cato had released his daily fury and frustration on a group of arrogant twats that thought they could take advantage of one of the younger female trainees. Cato had no patience for boys that treated girls like dirt, used for pleasure and discarded once done. _

_It was days like these that made Cato hate the whole world and the darkness that crawled through every crevice of the Capitol. Murder, blood, filth, every imaginable sin existed in each corner of the wealthier Districts who had the resources and means to cover up their indiscretions. The world was a dark place, an environment that fed his roaring hatred. _

_He stopped to watch when he saw one of the older trainees approach an abandoned puppy on the side of the road. Knowing his District, Cato waited for the older boy to stomp the life out of the pitiful thing. But before the boy could do anything, a little girl stepped in between him and his prey, holding a glinting knife threateningly before her. Cato stayed his position in the shadows, watching amused._

"_Leave it alone." The girl tilted her head up defiantly, her striking, dark green eyes unwavering._

"_Get out of my way, little girl." The older boy scoffed jeeringly and made to shove the girl aside._

_A flash and a cry of pain._

"_I said, leave it alone, idiot." _

_The older boy clutched his hand to his abdomen, blood dripping from his fingers. Cato's eyes flickered back to the blade in surprise, seeing the blood on the blade. Subtly impressed, Cato studied the small girl again._

_The puppy cowered behind the girl's slender legs. Her soft, midnight brown hair was braided neatly into a plait that hung below her waist. She wore nondescript jeans and a T-shirt, typical. Sharp, angular cheekbones just losing their baby fat and a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose._

"_Why, you little – "_

_Cato made a move to intervene when the older boy made to grab the smaller girl. Lightning fast, the girl had the older boy on the ground, crouched over him. Cato watched, mesmerized as she brought her fist up and then drove the knife through the right hand of the boy. He howled in pain as she yanked the blade out again._

"_I said." She huffed coldly, "__**Leave**_**.**"

"_Fucking bitch." The older boy sat up, cradling his injured hand and sending the girl one last mutinous glare before stumbling away._

_Cato was surprised again when the girl wiped the blade on her T-shirt, then stuck the blade in the waistline of her jeans. Her blank, cold expression morphed into one of tender melancholy as she picked up the puppy with small, gentle hands._

"_Hey, you." She murmured, "You're just looking for trouble, aren't ya?"_

_The puppy licked her nose and Cato's heart stuttered as the most delightful smile spread across her face. It had been a long time since he'd seen such warmth in a human's eyes._

"_You're adorable." The little girl rubbed her nose against the puppy's face comfortingly._

_Cato watched her leave with an indescribable ache in his heart where he used to love._

Just that one insignificant act by a girl with a turmoil heart revived the smallest inkling of warmth in Cato's dark and tortured soul.

In that one moment, Cato had allowed himself to believe that maybe there was some goodness in the world after all.

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**Please, please, please review this story for me, readers! I would really love it!**

**I hope you enjoyed this setting. This chapter's really only about their background and what makes them _them_ in this story.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Heyheyhey, it's Chapter 3 :)**

**Please Read & Review!**

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Chapter 3

The day the lock shattered was the day Clove fought Cato.

The next morning, Clove peeled back her eyelids to squint against the harsh sun coming in from her single, familiar window. She sat up slowly just as the daily alarm clock in the form of a fist pounded on her door.

"Get up, girl!" Her father roared, pounding on her door twice more before stomping down the stairs.

After taking a three-second shower, Clove rubbed the sleep vigorously from her eyes, fighting a yawn that stole over her face. Aaron burst into her room while she was still wearing jeans and a bra.

"Can't you knock?" She didn't bother to hide her disgust this time.

Aaron's hair glistened from his recent shower, black t-shirt tight over his big form, and wearing black training pants with black trainers. Clove rolled her eyes; typical black ensemble.

"You know what today is, don't you?" Aaron sneered, grabbing her wrists as she attempted to slide a red t-shirt over her head.

"Let go of me, asshole." Clove stood still, staring back into his cold face unflinchingly.

She fought the urge to twist from his grasp and punch him in the face as he leered down at her half-naked body.

He let go of her suddenly, laughing jeeringly, "Today's the Tribute Tournaments and little Clovey's gonna get _crushed_."

"Just like you." Clove couldn't help but add as she yanked her T-shirt over her head.

Aaron spun back around, enraged at the mention of his shame, but she just smirked and dodged his flying fist. She scrambled across the bed as her brother lunged for her, swiping the knife from her pillow and running out the door with a cold, victorious laugh.

"You little _bitch!_" Aaron seethed upstairs as Clove ran downstairs, smoothing back her hair as she came into view of the kitchen.

"Today's the day, darling girl." Klaus Easton clapped his daughter on the back, hard enough to make her stumble into a chair.

Clove grit her teeth, grabbing a piece of toast from the frying pan her mother had placed on the stove. Annelina Easton was a quiet, studious woman with sharp blue eyes that went out of her way to avoid any violence. Aaron got his dirty blonde hair from their sharp-nosed mother while Clove got her nearly black locks from her father, a fact she hated. Her eyes were a curious mix of both parents while Aaron's were muddled hazel like their father's. Klaus kept Annelina in the house to clean up after everybody. Clove held no love for the woman that turned a blind eye to the horrors of the Easton men and allowed her youngest child and only daughter to be molded into a killer.

"Everything we've done, Clove, is to get you here." Klaus set down his cup of coffee to stare at his daughter as she ripped the toast to crumbs, "This is your first year eligible as volunteer."

"I know." Clove pretended the crumbs were her father's brains.

"You need to stay focused. Go straight for the kill, no playing around." Her father's hazel eyes were as intense as his voice, "Don't try too hard in the beginning. Remember what I said about the weaker ones?"

Clove nodded, twirling her favorite knife just to see its blade gleam in the kitchen light.

"Let everyone think you're weak." Klaus snorted, "Then when they're guard is down, strike where it hurts most. One strike, that's all you'll need."

_One strike, that's all you'll need._

When Clove was six, she'd brought home an abandoned puppy she'd found walking home from the Training center. A darling little thing with matted fur and the saddest eyes. When she'd gotten home, she'd been so excited to show her father the puppy, she didn't notice the vicious gleam in Aaron's eyes as he picked up her newest little friend. Her nine year old brother had proceeded to snap its neck right there in front of her as their father laughed with approval. _One strike, that's all you'll need_, is what Klaus had said as he patted his son on the shoulder. And when Clove had begun to cry, Aaron took her by the hair, smashing her head against the kitchen table. Aaron had scowled and kicked her viciously in the stomach.

_You're weak!_

With blood in her hair and tears in her eyes, Clove learned not to love. Love was a weakness, a weakness she could not afford in a house full of the darkest horrors.

"Look at me, girl." Klaus commanded and reluctantly, Clove raised her head to meet his gaze with stiff confidence, "What do I always tell you?"

With an instinctual flick of her wrist, Clove sent her knife sailing across the table, barely skimming her father's ear, to lodge directly in the wall above the stove. Annelina didn't even react, silently preparing breakfast for her eldest son. Klaus didn't flinch, didn't blink, and it infuriated her.

"Kill or be killed." Clove pushed back her chair roughly as her father nodded approvingly.

"Don't bother coming back without that tribute token." Klaus said over his shoulder as she retrieved her knife from the wall.

She slammed the front door for extra measure.

Children already roamed the streets of District 2 in the early morning when the sun was just peaking over the building tops. As she began her trek to the Training Center, Clove gripped her knife tightly and didn't bother speaking with any of the other trainees that walked the same path.

Today marked the finals of the Tribute Tournament, three months before the 74th annual Hunger Games. Although it was illegal to train tributes for the Hunger Games, the Capitol turned a blind eye when District 2 hosted its annual Tribute Tournament. Clove suspected it was because the Tournament was as much of a spectacle for the Capitol as the Hunger Games were.

The Tribute Tournament lasted for a whole of one week; each day with three rounds. All eligible twelve through eighteen year olds were required to attend and compete. Trainees, friends, lovers, rivals, siblings, all pitted against each other in this bloody battle for the prize of being selected as one of the two volunteer tributes. Every year, the last day's rounds would filter out the best man and woman to be that year's Hunger Games volunteer tributes. On the 7th and final day of the tournament, that man and woman would be pitted against each other in one final, deadly round to earn the guidance of the chosen mentors. After all, there could only be one victor in the Hunger Games. Klaus made her drop out after the first day every year past. He said she would make her appearance when she was sixteen, when she was at the peak of her health, youth, and strength.

This was the first year, Clove would win.

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**Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Clove scoot further down the bench, away from the nervous, twitching boy they'd seated next to her. The hallway was quiet, humming with nervous energy, as the trainees of District 2 lined the walls, each waiting for success or failure in their first round. The walls were white and the ceiling lights intimidatingly bright. A cough here, a whimper there, and the rest of the children were squirming in their seats.

Shortly upon arriving at the Training Center, she signed in, got her assigned room number, then proceeded to the locker room to change into her training uniform. The short sleeve shirt was made of a black, stretchy fabric, two red stripes down the length of the sleeves. Blue for 12-14 year olds, red for 15-16 year olds, and white for 17-18 year olds. The pants were made of the same fabric, equally a non-descript black and black trainers. It reminded her so much of Aaron that she was wanted to rip the clothing from her body. Her hair was up in a simple pony-tail, just to keep the annoying stuff away from her face.

Clove glanced at the metal door with her assigned room number on it.

302

It had taken a long time for District 2 to get enough funding to build all these simulator rooms. The simulations had been relatively new when Clove had been old enough to compete in the Tournament. Before the simulations, too many people were caught up in the rush of the battle that they ended up fighting to the death. With the simulations, you fought in the digital arena where you could stab and slice and break as much as you want and you would still be alive in reality.

The past weeks rounds had been such a breeze that Clove was suspicious. She had easily beaten every little wimp they'd put her against. Only yesterday's matches had taken a little bit longer to complete. If all the trainees were anything like the ones she'd defeated, she had a hard time imagining how District 2 would win the Hunger Games this year.

Clove wished she had her knife as she remembered how each and every one of those kills, a quick, clean slash to the neck and they were dead before they even knew what happened.

Clove was not a friendly face around the Training Center. Those that knew her and trained with her tended to keep a twenty foot radius around her at all times. They were afraid of her, and through fear came the respect that she held proudly.

With a frightening intelligence and formidable agility, Clove had been training with the eighteen year olds since she was fourteen. Some looked down on her with contempt and some were afraid. But mostly, they didn't bother with her. They were all set on one goal; training for the Hunger Games.

"Clove Easton."

Her head snapped up at the sound of her name being called and she stood swiftly, squaring her shoulders with confidence.

"Alison Chechka."

When she reached the door, Clove looked up at her first opponent of the day (everyone she trained with was taller than her; she got used to it).

Alison was a young woman Clove recognized from training. Big, hulky, type with a masculine face and defined jawline. Crazy brown curls were tightly wound into a bun on top of the girl's head and haughty, green eyes stared down at Clove with contempt.

Ah, so she was one of those.

Alison smiled, a lip-curling I'm-going-to-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-bare-hands smile.

Both girls were ushered inside the simulation room and placed in their separate chairs; two metallic contraptions screwed into the ground that faced each other, wires and appendages protruding from every side. Bright green eyes narrowed as forest green eyes danced with mischief. The evaluator snapped the metal cuffs around their wrists and ankles, placing sensor patches on each hand and foot, one over the heart, two on each side of the neck, one on each shoulder, and another below the breastbone.

Clove felt uncomfortable as she always did in a simulation room. She felt trapped, her limbs tied down and the metal bowl-shaped helmet lowered over her head, wires extending from equally spaced pores on the surface of the helmet.

She felt like a lab rat.

The evaluator finally sat down in front of the monitor, equidistant from both chairs. He scribbled something on a clipboard then pressed a switch Clove couldn't see.

"Day seven, round one. Females, red stripes." The evaluator spoke into an ear-com, "Ladies, you know the rules. This is a just a friendly competition. On the count of three-"

"One."

Clove closed her eyes.

"Two."

She steadied her breathing.

"Three."

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**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Oooohhh CATO IS FINALLY HERE! Hahaha, sorry. I know the first few chapters were boring but it was really a setting for Clove. I'm not sure if I'll be doing a Cato POV yet.**

**Hope you enjoy :)**

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Chapter 5

Clove was panting hard, almost gasping as she reopened her eyes to reality. Her fingers still ached from gripping Alison's hands so hard. She could almost feel the big girl's fingers still clawing into the side of her face as Clove unceremoniously raked her knife across the tender skin of the girl's throat.

"Well done, ladies." The evaluator set his clipboard down.

"You stupid little-" Alison was awake too and she was spitting mad, "I'm going to kill you, fucking _bitch_! Do hear me? This is _not_ over! I'm going to find you and rip your-"

Clove waited patiently as Peacekeepers dragged the furious girl from her simulator chair, other Peacekeepers unlocking her restraints. When her hands were free, Clove ripped the sensor patches from her body, hopping down in an eerily calm manner.

When the white uniformed Peacekeepers escorted her back out into the hall, Alison was still screaming down the hall.

"Do you think you're better than me, Easton? You're nothing! You're _weak_!"

Clove twitched, but otherwise continued on the opposite way down the hall. She'd beat the girl fair and square, taking an axe to the waist before she finally wrestled the giant to the ground, legs pinned down with knees and hands twisted painfully under her body.

_Alison's eyes were wide with fear and hatred. Clove breathed deeply as she placed the flat side of her blade against the skin of the girl's cheek._

"_You can't kill me." Alison said hoarsely as she continued to struggle under Clove's hands, "You can't, you don't have the guts!"_

"_Really?" Clove murmured, dragging the very tip of her knife down the side of Alison's face, licking the blood from her lip where Alison had punched her earlier._

_A thrill shuddered through her body as she witnessed the ribbon of red slide down the curve of the other girl's jaw._

"_You're wrong." Clove was hit with sudden fury that she dug the edge of her blade into Alison's cheek, making the other girl cry out in fear, "I can making this a long, torturous death for you. I can slice open your stomach while you still live and stir your entrails into a bloody mess with my knife."_

_She dug her knife harder into the girl's cheek and Alison's scream gurgled with blood._

"_I can scrape away your cheek, one slice at a time. Maybe I'll cut out your tongue first so I don't have to listen to your stupid voice. Or maybe I should rid you of your ears since you don't listen anyway? Maybe I'll leave you with just one eye so you can watch me as I carve your pathetic, little heart out? Hmm?"_

_Clove felt cold and powerful as Alison whimpered in fearful surrender. She was everything her father ever wanted. A cold-blooded monster._

"_But I don't want to be." Clove whispered, her hand trembling as she drew the knife out of the girl's cheek and placed it against her neck._

_One swift jerk of her wrist and the blood spilled onto the soft grass as she offered Death another._

"Here." The Peacekeeper to her left grabbed her arm to bring her to a stop.

On instinct, she turned towards him, stepping back onto her left foot and bringing her right palm around to smash into the skin where his arm met his shoulder. He dropped her arm with a cry and she was roughly pulled away from him by another Peacekeeper. She decked this one in the stomach twice with both fists. Stepping out of reach of third Peacekeeper, Clove turned the knob on her next assigned door.

"Don't touch me." She snarled before stepping into the whirring of another simulation room.

Clove turned to see her next competitor. This girl she didn't recognize, but by the frightful widening of her eyes, she knew Clove. The girl was bigger than her but smaller than Alison with wispy blonde hair and baby blue eyes, a typical beauty. Clove hated blondes.

She smiled dangerously and the other girl swallowed harshly.

"Ah, you're here." Another evaluator bustled in behind her, closing the door, "Good, we can get started."

* * *

Four hours later, Clove sat in the mess hall like every other trainee. If she wasn't mistaken, she had won all her rounds, killing all the opponents, and won the volunteer tribute position.

It was all too easy.

She fiddled with the ends of her hair as the other children of District 2 sat around, chattering about their recent victories or losses. Clove had no friends here.

"Ladies and gentlemen, settle down." A nauseatingly pleasant voice sounded over the microphone, "Settle down, please!"

Reese Blanchard, activities coordinator for the Training Center stood in a little, blue dress and outrageous black heels that made Clove cringe. Ms. Blanchard held a clipboard, every once and a while glancing up at the giant screen mounted on the wall above her. The mess hall fell silent.

"As many of you know, there is one, last, final round between the chosen tributes, man and woman." Ms. Blanchard was nearly kissing the microphone in her excitement, "All of you fought extremely well, and the staff here at the Training Center are all extremely proud of your efforts. Many of you displayed remarkable talent and ferocious fighting personalities!"

Clove rolled her eyes as she thought of the blonde girl in Round Two.

"However, the Board of Mentors can only choose one female and one male out of the thousands of you to bring pride to our district." Ms. Blanchard pulled a sad expression that made many of the trainees snicker before continuing, "So without further ado, the volunteers chosen to compete in the last round for this year's annual Tribute Tournament are…"

Clove held her breath and wished fervently that she had her knife so she could carve away the seconds remaining.

"Cato Braxton and Clove Easton!"

Clove burst from her seat in refined excitement, allowing her razor-sharp smirk to spread across her face as she walked towards Ms. Blanchard. She could barely disguise her pride as she was led by Peacekeepers towards the end of the hall. Out of the corner her eye, she could see a big, heavy-set, young man being led forth.

Both escorts reached the doors at the same time and Clove blanched as she recognized the boy she could be fighting against.

Cato matched her scowl with an arrogant smirk.

Oh damn, did she _know_ him.

One look into his icy, blue eyes and she knew he remembered.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and don't forget to review! I would really really really love some constructive criticism :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Aw I love Clato.**

**Disclaimer: You know.**

* * *

Chapter 6

_Today had been utterly exhausting. Training with the eighteen year olds was not as good as Clove had hoped. She'd hoped they'd be mature, focused, and something to compete against. But she was once again met with the drama, the lies, the mindless chatter of who was dating who, who was hotter, who was better in bed. _

_And nobody even gave her a second glance._

_She was infuriated beyond belief. All her life she'd been underestimated, under evaluated, underappreciated. Everyone looked at her like she was weak, like she was prey._

_And in reality, they were all a little bit better than her._

_Clove slammed the door on her locker as she wiped the sweat from her face vigorously. Klaus would be furious if he learned how she'd been pinned to the ground in two seconds flat in every one of her practice matches. It just wasn't fair. She was so much better at long-distance fighting than close-quarter brawling. She could take out every one of the older trainees before they even saw her coming._

_She waited for everyone to file out before she stole back into the training room. It was peacefully quiet without all those obnoxious, hormonal teenagers around trying to impress and intimidate eachother. All day, she'd reasoned with herself to stay under the radar, not make a target of herself, so she hadn't touched the array of knives that beckoned to her from the other side of the room. Instead, she did fairly well at rock-climbing, knot tying, and code breaking. She struggled a little in the weight-lifting section, but she tried not to make a scene. The spears were all right, but it couldn't compare to her deadly accuracy with knives. The swords were just a no-go. She had years of scars and bruises from Aaron and Klaus to show for that._

_But now nobody was watching and Clove could shine._

_She started the moving targets when she found the metal panel of buttons, then plucked a knife belt from the shelf and buckled it around her waist. As she picked knives at random to place in their sheaths, the familiar weight of her favorite weapons was soothing to her frustration._

_She fell into years of carefully honed movements as she unleashed knife after knife, spinning gracefully on the balls of her feet, letting the blades fly from her fingers. Twisting and turning, the careful position of her wrist and just enough pressure from her fingers as she added a twist to each throw._

_It was her dance, her music, her art, and her freedom._

_Each blade hit very center of each moving target's heart. Sixteen knives for sixteen bleeding hearts._

"_Impressive."_

_Clove tripped over her own two feet and promptly fell on her backside, caught off guard and monumentally surprised._

_The intruder leaned against the bar separating the knife-throwing station from the rest of the room. Heart pounding, Clove studied the young man that had dared to break her concentration._

_Short, blonde hair tousled over a broad, perfectly proportioned face; sharp, defined, jawline, generic nose and ears. Massive body structure, definitely more muscular than any she'd ever seen. Broad chest, muscles flexing and rippling under a tight T-shirt. He could easily crush her._

_Clove scrambled to her feet when she met his enticing cerulean eyes._

"_What the hell is your problem?" She bristled at laughter in his eyes._

_How dare he laugh at her as he caught her in a moment of disgrace? Who the hell was this jerk?_

"_Clove, right?" the young man ducked under the bar to approach her, "You're the newbie, yeah?"_

_Immediately, she was on the defensive. She'd heard that the older trainees liked to haze the newer ones, gang up on them, intimidate them. But she wasn't someone to pick on. Everyone in her age group knew that._

"_Don't underestimate me." Clove stepped back in a defensive position, twirling a knife threateningly In her right hand._

_She couldn't fathom the expression on his face as he came closer. She didn't move as stopped right in front of her, toes touching. He was so much taller than her that she had to crane her neck to look up into his face._

"_I'd never underestimate you." He said quietly, blue eyes sharp and honest._

_Clove didn't understand at all. She gripped the hilt of her knife so hard, her knuckles turned white. She strained her eyes to look around his broad form for the groupies she was sure lay in wait. _

"_You're a tiny little thing, aren't you?" The look in his eyes made her shiver with something completely electrifying._

_He looked at her like she was a human being, an equal, worthy of acknowledgement. And this threw her so off balance that she dropped her knife._

_But in the next moment, she caught a flicker of movement – his hand – in the corner of her eyes and the next second, she had literally thrown herself onto him, knees pressed into his thick thighs, one hand splayed next to his head, another holding that same knife to his throat._

_He grunted in surprise as she panted with the rush of adrenaline. _

"_Don't even think about it." Clove hissed, pressing the blade harder into the tender flesh of his throat._

"_There wasn't anything to think about." He looked totally calm despite the immediate threat perched across his chest, "Are you always this aggressive when someone tries to shake your hand?"_

_Realizing her mistake, Clove uneasily slid off him, watching as he massaged his throat gently with two fingers as he stood._

"_Who are you? What are you doing here? I thought everyone was supposed to have left already." Clove tried to put it all into one sentence._

_She wasn't a sociable person._

"_Cato. Cato Braxton." He flashed a handsome smile as he held out his hand again._

_Clove reluctantly pressed her palm against his, the warmth of his hand completely enveloping her smaller ones. He smiled cockily as she withdrew her hand quickly._

"_I better get going. Dinner's waiting." He said, abruptly turning away and with long strides had already reached the door._

_Clove stared after him, completely thrown. Cato turned back at the last second, running a hand through his hair._

"_And for the record, I could've pinned you in two seconds flat." Cato smirked arrogantly and she flushed darkly._

_She seemed to remember him as one of her practice matches, but at the time she hadn't been really paying attention except for the fact that she was getting crushed._

"_Get out!" Clove scowled, sending a knife right into the wall an inch from his ear._

_Cato laughed, "See you later, kitten."_

"All right there, kitten?"

Cato leaned against the wall, opposite her in the silent hallway. Large arms crossed over his broad chest, every muscle strained against his black training shirt.

Clove scowled, like always, "Stop calling me that."

Ever since their initial meeting in the Training room two months ago, Clove and Cato had been clashing every second they had been forced to spend together. He always seemed to get right under her skin, provoking her into doing and saying things she would never have done otherwise. In the training room, they constantly strove to be better than each other, a private competition that left the rest of the trainees realing in their wake.

Clove was better with knives.

Cato was better with swords.

Clove always got the highest scores in history.

Cato naturally got the highest scores in math.

Clove could scale the Level Three wall in ten seconds.

Cato could break a complex Level X code in twelve seconds.

They were the most devastating of rivals, an environment that Clove thrived in. She loved the competition, the victories, and a little respect grew each time Cato outshined her. Because if she was being truthfully, she would grudgingly accept that Cato was the only would worth competing against. He challenged her to do better every time, and in return she did the same.

And from this rivalry, came a strange sort of cameradie. They weren't necessarily friends – hell no, Clove didn't need friends – but they respected and envied each other. It was as close to a friendship that Clove would ever get.

"It suits you." Cato grinned and before Clove could respond appropriately, the door to the last simulation room opened.

"Come on, you two." The evaluator ushered the two chosen volunteers inside before shutting and locking the door.

Clove glanced uneasily at the locked door and she could see that Cato felt the same way; trapped again.

She gripped the arms of the metal chair to prevent herself from punching the Peacekeepers that strapped her in. As soon as each sensor patch was in the right place and the helmet was lowered over her head, the evaluator sat in front of the monitor with his ever-present clipboard.

"Final round. Cato Braxton and Clove Easton. Male, white stripe. Female, red stripe." The man did not look up as he spoke into the ear-com, "Congratulations, you two, for making it to the final round of this year's Tribute Tournament. In this last round, the Board of Mentors will decide which one of you deserves the single mentorship of District 2. You both should know the rules by now."

Cato and Clove locked eyes from across the room as the evaluator sighed, "On the count of three."

"One."

"Are you ready, kitten?" Cato smiled genuinely, a challenge blazing in the sea blue of his eyes.

"Two."

"I'm always ready." Clove allowed herself a real smile, accepting his challenge in the fierce forest of her eyes.

"Three."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Clove opened her eyes to find herself face-down in sweet-smelling grass. She picked herself up quickly, immediately scanning her surroundings.

This simulation was slightly different than the others. Instead of the blatantly white walls and expanse of green grass, she was standing in a field, dotted with a few flowers and fresh grass. There were no walls this time, just an ever-stretching blanket of blue sky and encircling the field were trees, that disappeared into a dense forest.

They'd really put some detail in here.

Also irregular was the fact that she couldn't see Cato anywhere despite the pile of supplies that lay under a tree in the middle of the field. Usually, they placed the supplies right in the middle of the field and the competitors equidistant from the pile on opposite sides.

This time, she had to find her opponent.

Clove crouched low as she sprinted across the grass towards the tree and supplies. Where was Cato?

Picking the knife belt out from the supplies, Clove hurriedly filled each strap with a razor-sharp, District 2 manufactured knife. Although she was sure she wouldn't need these things, the sleeping bag, rope, two canteens, and a few meal packs went into the empty backpack. Black, leather, fingerless gloves were a bonus to keep her hands warm for the inevitable kill.

She took a mace just for fun, to give the trainees back in the mess hall something to look at. She knew they were all gathered there, including all the faculty members, watching this last round on the mega screen with baited breath. And if she knew her father, Klaus would've gotten in somehow, maybe even brought Aaron with him.

She thought about sitting under the tree and waiting for Cato to come to her, but that wouldn't please the Board. They wanted action. They wanted blood. They wanted struggle.

She sighed and decided to go East first. She couldn't explain it, but she thought she knew he was in there. Something was pulling her there and since she had no other clue, she went with it.

Leaves crunched under her boots as wind sifted through the strands of her ponytail. It was unnervingly quiet in the forest. Maybe they had forgotten to add animals or the like.

Twenty minutes later, she had no idea where she was. Every single inch of this forest looked exactly the same. She'd tried marking the trees she passed with her knife, but even though she had a sneaking suspicion that she was going in circles, she hadn't come across any of those marks.

Just as she was contemplating turning around and walking the same exact way she had just passed, a crack – like branches breaking underfoot – ripped through the silence and startled her.

Clove nearly jumped a foot into the air when he called her name, "Clove!"

Desperately, she found the nearest tree and began to climb.

"Clove, I know you're there!" Cato's voice ruffled through the trees as the rough bark bit into her skin.

His voice was getting closer. Clove found a decent foothold, her heart pounding and her blood rushing in her ears. She gripped a sturdy tree branch with one hand, the other at her knife belt. The foliage of the tree hid her pretty well.

Now was the moment. She could hear the sound of his heavy footsteps so near to the tree she hid in. When he came to be directly below her, she would drop down and finish him.

She would kill him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Yeah. So I have no freaking idea why this is like triple-spaced but I'm to lazy to go through and change all of it.**

**But thanks for reading this far and staying with me.**

**I love my Clato-obsessed readers :)**

**Please R&R!**

* * *

Chapter 8

"Clove, I can smell you!" His familiar voice made her tremble as it sounded beneath her tree.

Smell? Clove drew her knife from her belt, confused and unsettled. What the hell did he mean? He was almost there now, she could see the top of his head through the leaves that hid her from view.

Clove stared at her hand as it shook. She couldn't seem to control it. Her lips were dry and her heart was lodged in her throat. She'd never been this nervous before. Why was she hesitating, what was this reluctance? She had to kill him, kill him and then win the Hunger Games by killing him in real life.

She just had to avoid looking in his eyes. She couldn't bear to look in his eyes and watch the life drain from that sea of comforting blue.

And then his head was in perfect vision below her and she had no more time to think as she dropped down without a sound. Her boots collided with the back of his shoulders and the momentum sent them both crashing to the ground.

The body underneath her unforgiving one grunted with the force of their impact. Clove forced her arm to drive the knife down through his back and into his heart.

A strangled gasp came from him and then he went still.

Clove sat still, her hand still wrapped around the hilt as she stared wide-eyed down at the young man she had just killed.

In that moment, she forgot this wasn't real, that they were in a simulation and the first tear she'd shed in over ten years slid down her cheek.

"Cato…" she whispered brokenly.

Clove was horrified at herself. She furiously wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks and yanked the knife out of his flesh, tearing through his bloody T-shirt. His blood spilled into the grass.

What was happening to her?

Clove stumbled away from the body in a daze, her back hitting the tree trunk as she tried to force a sound pass her lips. Her heart felt like it was failing her. The knife slipped from her bloody fingers as she stared.

And then everything went haywire.

"Clove?" his voice came from her right.

Cato was standing just a few feet from her, an intimidatingly clean sword swinging limp from his grasp. He looked at her with red-rimmed, puzzled eyes. Clove looked back and –

The body was gone. The grass stirred in the breeze. There was no blood and no lifeless body.

Confused and disoriented, she fell to her knees. Cato, the living, breathing Cato dropped his sword and kneeled down beside her. How the hell was he still alive? She had just killed him, right there, felt her knife slide into the soft tissue of his hear!

She'd killed him right there!

She clutched her hair in her fists and dug her nails into the crown of her head as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Hey, Clove, hey," Cato wrapped his extremely large arms around her, bringing her into his chest, "What's the matter? Clove?"

She finally forced something past her dry throat, "I just- I just-"

"What is it, Clove?" Cato sounded concerned and she fought to discern fake from reality.

Was she dreaming? She leaned into the warmth of his embrace, trembling and gasping. Nobody had ever held her like this before, like she mattered.

"I just- I just killed you!" She choked out, gripping his shirt in both hands, "I just killed you! I saw it, the blood and-"

"But I just killed you." Cato pushed her away, hands on her shoulders to get a good look at her face, "I killed you not three minutes ago."

The wall around her heart shattered into a million fragments as she gazed up into his eyes. They were slightly red from _crying. _Clove looked up in wonder at the raw pain, confusion, and bewilderment in his familiar blue irises.

She was a trembling, overwhelmed mess. So many unfamiliar emotions threatened to break through her limbs and she was so confused.

"I killed you." Cato breathed harshly, his eyes wide.

"What just happened?" Clove turned to look and the body was still not there, still gone.

"I think – I think they tricked us." Cato's voice trembled with anger as his fingers clenched her shoulders tighter, "There's no blood on my sword and I didn't clean it after I – "

Clove twisted from his grasp, scrambling over the grass to pick up her discarded knife. It was as clean and silver as the moment she had picked it up in the field.

Standing, she looked down at Cato still kneeled in the grass, the knife in her hand. She trembled with the conflicting emotions that roared inside her arms, legs, head, and heart.

Clove didn't know when it had happened, but she had become attached, emotionally attached, to Cato Braxton.

When she had sunk that knife into his– or, whatever that thing was – heart, the realization hit her like a thousand bullets in the chest. She had been wrong when she said they weren't friends. Their bond was complicated and indescribable; she didn't know _what _to call it. But it was there and it was too strong to ignore.

Clove realized that for the first time in her life, she had a weakness.

And he was kneeling right in front of her.

"What have you done?" Clove whispered, convinced she was going insane.

Cato made no move to get his sword.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

She cried out wretchedly, "I already killed you!"

"It wasn't real. It was just a shadow or something; just like when I killed you."

Cato gazed back at her with calm, steady eyes, completely at her mercy. Her fingers closed tightly around the hilt of the knife as she struggled to understand.

All she had to do was step forward, grip his hair, and drag the knife across his throat. Or she could just drive it through his chest – this time from the front.

But his eyes.

The truth flew from her lips before she even knew what she was doing.

"I can't do it."

"It's not real!" Cato's arms lashed out and his fingers gained a bruising hold on her forearms, "Just do it! Then it's over."

"Why are you doing this?" her voice trembled in confusion, "Why don't you kill _me_?"

"You know why."

Cato looked at her with such a gentle expression that she wanted to scream. Unbidden, a memory came to her.

"_You're still here?" Clove rolled her eyes as Cato strode into the Training room._

_He always seemed to have the time to stay behind when she was training after hours._

"_Always." He smirked as she twirled a knife around and around in her right hand, "Did you see me today? Totally crushed McMahon."_

_She rolled her eyes again as she switched hands, ignoring the target board in favor of an opportunity to tease her fellow trainee._

"_Oh yeah, I saw you alright." Her smile was sickeningly sweet, "Saw you get your lip busted. Twice."_

_In a flash, he had crossed the room and had her on floor, pinning her petite body beneath his massive one, arm pressed gently across her throat in a threatening position. Clove huffed, squirming underneath his iron strength. He really was giant compared to her._

"_At least I lasted more than five seconds in a match." Cato smiled with a hint of cruelty, "Kitten."_

_She shrieked at the mention of her daily practice match humiliation, renewing her struggle against his hold. He didn't let up an inch as he laughed._

"_Get off me, fatass!" Clove could hardly keep the laughter from her voice as she whipped her head from side to side, trying in vain to escape the arm that threatened to crush her windpipe._

_He mock-gasped, "Fatass? I'm insulted."_

"_Good." She scoffed, going still and watching the expressions cross his face._

_It wouldn't be the first time she'd been in this predicament. They were always wrestling, teasing, and provoking each other. It became her second favorite form of entertainment, besides knives. If she had been an outsider, she would've been appallingly shocked at how many laughs and smiles Cato coaxed from her on a daily basis. And since she was antisocial and least likely to participate in gossip, she wasn't aware of the rumors that floated around the two trainees. She could care less what those dipshits had to say._

_He let her up after another moment of gazing into each other's eyes and she coughed exaggeratedly just to rub it in his face._

"_Oh, please! I wasn't even flexing." Cato chuckled as they came to sit beside each other on the cold, metal floor of the Training room._

_Clove glared at him and he laughed again. She did like the sound of his laugh, deep and invitingly warm. She liked the sound of his voice, it was the only one in the world that didn't prompt her to stick a knife in a face._

_They usually talked about their future, their families, and rarely, their hopes and dreams. Cato was the first person she'd ever let in so deep and she liked to think that he'd just barely scratched the surface._

_Jokingly, she said, "You don't have what it takes to kill me, do you?"_

_Instead of the sarcastic answer she expected, his voice was quiet and uncharacteristically serious as he said, "No, I don't."_

"_Cato?" she was puzzled by his shift in demeanor._

_Clove leaned forward to catch a glimpse of his face, trying to gauge the meaning behind his words._

"_Clove, we're going to be in the Hunger Games." Cato stated abruptly._

"_I know that." She crossed her arms, still confused, "So?"_

_Cato spoke slowly, "__**We're**_ _going to be in the Hunger Games. This is my last year. I __**have**__ to be in the Hunger Games. Your father won't let you be anything __**but**__ in the Hunger Games."_

"_I don't understand."_

_Scowling at the mention of that son-of-a-bitch, Clove scraped the blade of her knife against the ground in irritation._

"_Clove, we're the best there is. We don't have a choice; we'll be in the Hunger Games - __**together.**__" Cato finally looked at her and she flinched from the pain in his eyes._

_She sucked in a sharp breath as the full impact of his words finally hit her. They would both be chosen as tributes and one would have to kill the other._

_Clove was suddenly furious, angry at herself for allowing this to happen and angry at Cato for being himself. She never should have let him in. She never should have talked to him. She stood up so fast that she almost tripped over herself in the hurry to get away; to run away from this horrible and painful truth._

"You're not even going to fight?" Clove pointed her blade straight at his heart, the fingers of her left hand digging into his shoulder.

"Only one of us can win the Hunger Games, kitten." Cato's smile tore at her heart, "If you kill me here, then the mentors will train _you_ and _you_ can win."

[Ok, I'm going to insert this here because I have no idea how to say this in the story without just plain telling you. In the previous few chapters, it seems like Cato and Clove only met once, in the first memory that I wrote at the beginning of Chapter 6. This is a misconception. After that initial meeting, Cato and Clove built a friendship based on rivalry. Nothing love-related here, but it's important because it's the first time Clove lets down her defenses to _anybody_. Now, you might be thinking that Cato is too soft-hearted in this chapter and that there is no way he would just give up like this, but I have to tell you that I think Cato would be the first to acknowledge his feelings (he's older, therefore more mature in my opinion) so he's soft because he's realized he's falling in love with Clove. Still, you might not be satisfied with the level of fluff and Cato-adorableness, but I really didn't know how else to write this scene. It was hard to incorporate a mean, blood-thirsty young man when I was trying to show some layers of their relationship and the beginning of their love. Shit, fanfics are so hard to write. So just bear with me here.]

"What the _fuck_?"

Angered by this completely pathetic attempt at salvaging their friendship, Clove lashed out. Unable to control her screwed up emotions,dragging her knife across his chest in a fit of fury. Cato swayed a little on his knees, but otherwise looked back at her unflinchingly.

"You're just giving up?" She couldn't breathe, trying to make sense of her fury and despair, "You're going to _let_ me kill you?"

"_This isn't real!_ Look, I'm choosing _now_, who gets to live." Cato growled impatiently, "Clove, they're still watching us!"

"I don't care!" She slammed the knife into the tree next to them, wishing with all her heart that she was anywhere else in the world, "You don't get to choose! Cato – "

"Clove–"

_I am not a monster. I am not a monster. I am not a monster._

If she killed him, the one person who had ever touched her heart, then she would truly be a monster, wouldn't she? Why hadn't she just pushed him away?

Love is a weakness.

_I am not a monster_.

"Of course you're not, kitten." He grabbed her wrists hard, shaking her almost desperately, "Look at me! Clove! You need to do this now. The Board, the mentors, they've already seen everything. They're watching us _right now_."

She wished she had never been born into the Easton family. She wished the Hunger Games had never existed. She wished she had never met Cato Braxton.

_I am not a monster_.

"I won't do it." Her head cleared as she spit the words into his face, "I won't do it."

If Cato made it out alive, that's all she'd ever need. She'd take as many beatings from her father as she needed to but she wouldn't go into the Hunger Games. Someone else would take her place and Cato would get his last chance. Suck that, Klaus.

Sacrifice makes people human right?

_I am not a monster_.

"Clove, goddamn it!"

Cato pushed the knife into her unwillingly hand and forced her fist to dig the tip of the blade into his chest. But she yanks her arm from his forceful fingers, almost pulling the limb from its socket in the process. Unbuckling the knife belt, she threw it a few yards away.

"I'm not going to kill you, Cato." She punches him hard in the face to prove her point, her knuckles throbbing from impact, "Don't make me say it again."

Clove turned and ran.

To the field, the place where she started, for the grand finale.


	8. Chapter 8

**Yeah, the chapter numberings are all messed up because I squished chapter one, two, and nine together into the first chapter hahahhahahha. Doesn't really affect anything though, so just bare with me because I'm too lazy to change it.**

**Here's the finale :)**

**Disclaimer: sigh.**

* * *

_**ATTENTION ATTENTION*********_

I squished chapter one and two into the first chapter and then I also added chapter nine in there because it's Cato POV and I just decided to place all the character building into the first chapter.

I figured people weren't reading much because they weren't getting enough in the first chapter!

So, before you start this chapter, **GO AND READ CHAPTER 1 AGAIN**.

Sorry for the inconvenience, but please bear with me and do it, otherwise you'll be missing a huge part. Thank you. :]

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Chapter 10

Her boots pounded into the grass with each running leap she took, trying her hardest to stay in front of Cato. He was so much taller than her that he could catch up to her in just two strides. Her heart strained against her chest, almost leading her away from the pain behind her. Her breath came in deep gasps as she forced herself to run faster and stretch farther.

"Clove! Damn it, _Clove_!"

Just the sound of his voice made her resolve waver, but she pushed that away, breaking through the line of trees and making a beeline towards the supply pile.

[Oh, I just thought of this. There's an indiscretion in this story where you might have noticed that Clove's backpack and the mace just magically disappeared. Yeah, she left all her weapons and stuffs back where she killed the Cato-clone.]

When she reached the crates and packages, she doubled over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. Her throat and legs burned with adrenaline. Clove flicked the hair away from her face, spinning around to watch Cato reach her, equally out of breath.

"What are you doing?" Cato gasped, blood trickling from his nose.

In one hand, he held her knife belt. Damn, she'd hoped he'd at least have had the sense to pick up his sword. She knocked the belt out of his hands furiously, the knives sliding out of their sheaths and scattering over the grass.

"Why the hell did you bring that?" Clove said angrily.

Cato was just as angry, "Clove, take the damn knife."

He wiped the blood from his nose and she flinched.

"No."

She crossed her arms stubbornly, provoking him with a tilt of her chin. She could see the tell-tale signs of desperate anger that set his arms trembling and his fingers curling into fists. It wasn't long now, before he snapped.

"Take the-"

"You kill me."

Cato shook his head, lips tightening into a thin, angry line.

"What?" Clove tried to force as much antagonism into her voice, "You don't have what it takes?"

Cato opened his mouth, but Clove beat him to it, forcing the spiteful words past her lovely lips. _One strike, that's all you'll need_.

"You're a coward."

That was all it took. In the blink of an eye, the breath was knocked from her body as he shoved her to the ground, nearly crushing her with his fury. His hands were locked around her throat, fingers digging into her pale skin. Clove had never suffered as much agony as she did while he was choking the life from her small body. Fire crawled up the inside of her throat as she instinctively fought the confines of his grasp to breathe. Tears of pain escaped her fluttering eyelashes as she dug her nails into his wide wrists, scratching feebly.

_Kill me quickly._

But then the weight was lifting from her neck and she was coughing hoarsely. The dizziness knocked one side of her head while the pain fried the other. She felt like she was coughing up her own lungs. Cato trapped her wrists in one large hand above her head and the other gripping her jaw tightly so she was forced to look into his blue eyes. He was furious.

"I know what you're trying to do." He hissed, his fingers almost crushing her jaw.

The blood from the wound across his chest dripped onto her T-shirt as both of them panted harshly with anger and exertion. Clove tried to say something, but Cato's grip on her jaw kept it locked shut.

Suddenly, he was up and off her and the cool wind was sliding over her cold skin where his warmth had covered it just a moment ago. He stood over, eyes menacing and voice ice-cold.

"Get up."

And when she didn't get up fast enough, still dizzy, he grabbed her arm and hauled her up with a violent jerk. She bit back a cry of pain as his fingers overlapped the bruises made by his earlier violence. The blue sea of his eyes was alive with malice and behind that, just a hint of heartbreak.

It was at this point that Clove realized she was just as much of a weakness to him as he was to her.

"Just do it, clean and fast."

She could see how hard his jaw locked as he ground his teeth in fury. After this, they would have a lot of talking to do; maybe even some killing.

The Board was going to pay for putting them into a hell like this.

Cato reached out, fingers brushing her jaw tenderly before gripping it in his left hand, his right hand wrapped around the back of her head. There was nothing gentle about his eyes. This brutal, bloody Cato was all rough and unforgiving.

His eyes tightened, and she could clearly read the pain in them.

"You're not a coward." Clove said as quietly as possible, hoping the cameras don't catch it.

Who, but Cato, would have the courage to kill the one he loved, if he loved her at all?

"You're not a monster." Cato replied.

And she knew this was the truth.

Cato didn't even blink as he broke her neck with one swift jerk.

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**Please Review! Please, please, please I would really love some feedback :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Yay, another chapter done for you readers! I'm so proud of myself. I spit out eleven chapters in two days :D**

**Some of you might be skeptical of the jump in their relationship, but let me clarify that the love and relationship was already there and they're are just now discovering it.**

**Cato and Clove were always meant to be together XD**

**Disclaimer: I could never create anything as amazing as the Hunger Games.**

**Please R&R!**

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Chapter 11

Slowly, Clove filtered back into reality where she was still strapped into the simulator chair. She sat as still as she could, contemplating what had just happened.

She'd never died in the simulation before. There was a brief explosion of pain…and then nothing, pure black nothingness. For the tiniest of moments, Clove Easton had ceased to exist.

_So that's what dying's like._

She opened her eyes to the sounds of wretching. Peacekeepers were already unclasping the metal cuffs and she slid from her chair, ripping off the sensor patches. Cato was doubled over, already out of his chair. A puddle of sick before his feet, he stood straight and wiped his mouth roughly. She felt the urgent need to comfort him, but before she could even act upon her thoughts, the door slammed open with a thunderous _BANG_.

Klaus Easton stood heaving in the doorway, his face a mask of cold indifference. Aaron stood behind him, just outside the hallway, his arms crossed over the black T-shirt and a gleeful smirk on his face.

"Clove." Klaus's voice allowed no room for argument.

With one last look over her shoulder, a desperate glance at Cato's worried expression, and then she was hauled out the door, a fistful of her hair in Aaron's strong grip. Clove tried her best to walk with grace down the hall, still wincing from the bruises Cato had left in the simulation. Of course, there was nothing there now, it was all just in her head. She touched her neck briefly, feeling the smooth, unblemished skin of her throat in reassurance.

Everybody they passed on the way home averted their eyes and shrunk into the shadows at the site of a furious Klaus Easton, malicious Aaron Easton, and captured Clove Easton.

Once the oak front door was slammed and locked tight, Aaron let go of her hair and shoved her to the floor for good measure. Clove didn't bother to retaliate, picking herself up and standing silently before her bastard father. Annelina Easton stood silently in the doorway of the kitchen.

She was prepared for her father to drag her down to the cellar and beat her senseless. She was prepared to be starved for a week. She was prepared for harsh blows and degrading words. She was prepared for the worst.

Maybe this was the day that Klaus would surrender his killing prodigy into Aaron's cruel games. Her fingers itched with the desire to murder just thinking about it. That was the one thing she would never allow, ever. She'd cut off her brother's hands, feet, and penis just to force him to eat them before she gave in.

"You're weak."

Despite everything, Clove flinched and stepped back at the psychological blow.

"Get the _fuck_ out of my sight." Klaus turned his back on his daughter, "You're completely worthless."

Clove stared after Klaus, utterly speechless. Never in a million years had she expected this reaction. He hadn't even struck her, not once. It was so unlike him that Clove didn't know what to do. How did you retaliate when there was nothing to retaliate against?

Aaron locked her in her room, tossing one last taunt into the dark, dank room.

"You're fucking _weak._"

* * *

Cato didn't see Clove for an entire week. In the back of his mind, he was out of his mind with worry and frustration. They needed to talk about what had occurred in the simulation. He needed to explain himself and smooth over all the rough patches. It was never supposed to end up this way.

The sound of her neck breaking still haunted him in his dreams as much as he remembered feeling her soft, warm skin under his fingers as he did it.

And he was terrified that he'd lost Clove forever.

On the first day of Tribute training, Cato was shocked to find a different girl standing in Clove's place. The Board of Mentors had been quick to replace her with the giant of a girl, Alison Chechka. Chechka had nothing on Clove, all brute strength and none of the beautiful grace that Cato admired in Clove's technique.

Tribute training was a million times more brutal than regular, old-fashioned training and Cato wished fervently that Clove was here to ease the suffering.

"Braxton! Focus, boy!" The male mentor of District 2 cuffed Cato on the head, forcing the young man out of his troubled thoughts.

Brutus Cierlow knocked the sword out of Cato's limp grasp with a frustrated scowl. The trainer watched mentor and tribute glare at each other.

"What's gotten into, boy?" Brutus took the sword from the trainer and smacked Cato's hip with the flat of the blade, making him wince and dodge to the right, "You could've been killed _twice_ in the seconds you were spending in la-la land."

Cato gave a noncommittal grunt, picking up his sword again.

"What was that?" his mentor's voice was threatening and violent, "Say that louder, boy!"

"Sorry, _sir_." He nearly spit out the formality.

The only available target for his pent-up anger was the now defenseless trainer. Cato brought his foot up and smashed it into the trainer's chest, knocking the surprised man to the ground and digging the tip of his training sword into the very center of the man's point, breathing harshly. Sweat trickled down his chin much like the blood had when Clove had punched him in the face.

Thinking about Clove made him furious again.

"Dead." Cato flung the sword to the side and climbed down from the sparring ring.

Enobaria Primo stepped in front of him, stopping him from getting to the exit.

"You're not done here, Braxton." The female mentor's eyes were hard and the expression on her face was vicious.

"Get out of my way." Cato snarled, but made no move to force the older woman, "We've been going at it for four hours and I'm learning _nothing_."

"Let the boy go." Brutus climbed down from the sparring ring, smirking, "He's no use to us like this."

He stalked past everyone and slammed his door on the way out of the Training room.

He needed to see Clove.

* * *

Clove placed a hand against her stomach as another hunger pang tore through her abdomen, the sound echoing eerily in the lonely room. She adjusted her seat by the window, shifting her cheek to a colder spot on the window pane.

It seemed like all they were going to do was lock her in her own room – without her knives – and give her a cup of water once a day to sustain her.

A week had gone by and she'd seen nothing except for Aaron's face and the occasional trainees walking home on the road below. She had yet to see Cato anywhere. He was probably training for the Hunger Games, anyway.

Thinking about Cato made her dizzy and confused with new emotions so she tried to steer away from those particular thoughts.

The night after her imprisonment, she learned that she'd been replaced as volunteer tribute by that oaf, Alison Chechka. She was more insulted by the fact that they'd chosen that stupid girl to fight along Cato than the fact that they'd replaced her in the first place. That was what she had wanted, right? This way she didn't have to go into the Hunger Games, Cato would kill the Chechka girl, and come back a victor with riches to last him a lifetime.

She'd chosen to sacrifice this for him.

Damn, she was back to thinking about him again. Clove rubbed her forehead quietly, wincing as the movement caused the bruise along her right temple to ache and sting. Having been tasked with the simple job of bringing her water _once_ a day, Aaron spent all of those five minutes making her meager existence a living hell.

The book she'd had opened in her lap fell to the floor in a muddled heap of bent pages and worn leather. Picking it up with a sigh, Clove left her seat by the window to place the book back on her nightstand. She'd barely gotten past the first page before she was immersed in her own thoughts.

Clove wondered what would happen to her now. She'd given up the one thing that had been the focus of her entire life from the age of four. The Hunger Games was no longer an option, the Board Members had replaced her, and everyone watching the final round had witnessed her failure. The biggest downfall from grace, _ever_.

Clove laughed bitterly.

What was the point of her life now? By demonstrating her inability to kill in the final round, she'd destroyed any chance of being tribute in the next eligible years. And unless she was reaped at the chosen female volunteer tribute failed to volunteer in her stead for some random reason, she was never going to achieve her fame in the bloody arena of Panem's notorious Hunger Games.

If she was being truthful, Clove's main fear was that she'd lost Cato forever in the final round of the Tribute Tournament.

Where did they stand now, when her only friend had snapped her neck like a twig and she was no longer in the graces of District 2?

Where was Cato?

* * *

Cato rapped firmly on the oak door twice. He was nervous for some reason and he fidgeted, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he waited for whatever came next. He'd never visited the Easton house before; there had been no need to. He and Clove spent all their time together at the training center.

A tall, wiry woman opened the door and peered at him with sharp blue eyes. Thin blonde hair was pulled up into a meager bun at the top of her head. So this was Clove's mother.

"Uh, hello. I'm Cato Braxton, Clove's friend." Cato hunched his shoulders, trying to appear shy, "Is Clove home?"

The woman shook her head in a miniscule movement. Her voice came out almost too softly for him to here.

"Clove isn't accepting any visitors."

Cato studied her suspiciously. It was as if she was afraid to answer him. He tried to peer around her and into the house. The woman shifted to block his view and shook her head firmly, trying to close the door politely.

"Wait!" Cato reached out a hand to hold the door open, "Could you at least tell me how she is? She's missed all her training sessions and I was…worried."

For lack of a better word.

It didn't take a genius to know what happened behind closed doors at the Easton house. One only had to know the reputation of the Easton men to steer clear of all trouble. And Cato held a natural hatred for Aaron Easton, who treated girls in the most despicable of ways.

Mrs. Easton opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a cold, gruff voice.

"Who are you talking to, Ann?" Klaus nearly shoved his wife from the door, his bulky shape filling the door frame intimidatingly.

Klaus looked down his hooked nose at the young man on his doorstep, "You."

Cato dug his nails into his palms, an irrational anger flooding his being at the sight of Clove's father. As a natural Hunger Games victor, Cato knew the man was unstable and violent. Judging from the bruises that Clove constantly tried to hide, he knew some form of abuse occurred in this house, from her father or from her brother, he didn't know, but he didn't like it. He didn't like anyone hurting Clove.

"Sir," Cato controlled the anger in his voice, "I just dropped by to see how Clove's doing."

"That brat is none of your concern, boy." Klaus wrinkled his nose in contempt, "Now get off my doorstep. Don't ever let me see you around here again."

And then Klaus Easton shut the door in his face.

* * *

Clove heard the knocks on the front door and pressed her ear to her own door curiously. Nobody visited the Easton house by choice. A low voice that sounded familiar accompanied the opening of the door. The visitor sounded male. A pause, probably where her pathetic mother was speaking. And then the male voice was speaking again and she was almost sure who it was.

But then she heard Klaus' cold voice and the door slammed.

Clove had never been more relieved that her room faced the road than now as she scrambled to her window, straining her eyes to watch the mysterious visitor leave. She would've recognized that ruffled blonde hair anywhere.

Cato.

He looked dejected, shoulders slumped and hands in his jeans' pockets as he stepped into the road, facing away from the window where she watched him. An ache in her chest and a peculiar yearning in her heart made her forget about the hunger pangs for a moment.

He'd come to see her.

Clove pressed her fingertips into the cold windowpane, wishing fervently that he would turn and see her in her window. She tried to rub years of dust, grit, and dirt from the glass, pressing her cheek onto its cold surface as she watched him kick a pebble angrily.

_Cato, look at me. Cato!_

Almost as if he had heard her, Cato turned in that moment and looked up. Her heart trembled as his gaze met hers, locking on each other immediately. He was still as handsome as ever, looking a little worn down, but she suspected that was from Tribute training. She spotted the familiar District token strung around his neck as his face broke out into a heart-warming smile.

She pressed her fingertips so hard against the glass, wishing she could hear his voice as his lips formed a single word.

_Kitten_.

Her bedroom door smashed open and Clove whirled away from the window, caught by surprise. Klaus crossed the room in the blink of an eye and locked her wrists in an iron grip, glancing out the window at the form of the young man below.

Clove struggled feverishly as he tried to drag her towards the door, "No! No, let go of me!"

"Shut up!" Klaus shoved her into the window pane, cracking her head against the unyielding glass, "I should've known, you stupid, ungrateful girl."

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Clove snarled, pain swimming in her eyes as she tried to look out the window again, "I'm not doing anything you say. I'm done!"

He slapped her so hard her neck cracked with the impact and she could taste the blood on the inside of her mouth.

"You'll do whatever I say." Her father hissed, eyes cold and black.

Clove tried to clear the pain that pounded through her head as she shot one last look out the window. Cato stood in the road, his face a mixture of confusion and anger.

Dark forest met striking blue once more before Klaus dragged his daughter from her room.

* * *

**Please.**

**Please.**

**Please.**

**Please, Review.**

**My life would be infinitely better with a few reviews in it :)**

**Thank you for all the support and the reviews I've already received!**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 12

"Where are you taking me?" Clove tried to wrestle her arm from Klaus' unrelenting grip.

She was panicking, the blindfold over her eyes stripping away one of her most important sentences. She was confused and bewildered as to what was happening. Judging by the direction that they'd left the house – through the back door – they were headed the opposite way from the training center.

The sun hit her face so she knew they weren't near any tall buildings. Klaus opened a door and shoved her through, locking it behind them. Cool, conditioned air met her cheeks and Clove tried to get her bearings. They went through a series of doors that left Clove reeling. She tried to remember how many right turns and left turns they took in case she managed to escape, but she was too disoriented to think straight.

She couldn't see anything but the black cloth of the blindfold.

"Shut up and walk faster, girl." Klaus bit the words out impatiently and she waited for the inevitable blow that was intended to make her quiet down.

It never came. Instead, she was brought to a stop and the blindfold was ripped so suddenly from her face that she shut them against the onslaught of light. Her father waited the few moments it took her eyes to adjust to the interior lighting of their surroundings.

They were standing in another hallway, suspiciously furnished like the ones in the Training Center. But she had thought they were heading away from there. She'd never been in this hallway though. Whatever, she had no idea where she was now.

"This is for your own good." Klaus spoke, but Clove realized that he wasn't speaking to her.

Aaron stood across from by the door, a confused scowl on his face, two Peacekeepers keeping his vicious arms by his sides as he spotted his little sister.

"Father, tell these men to let me go!" Aaron spat furiously, struggling against the Peacekeepers grasps.

Klaus barely glanced at his son before he waved his hand, signaling the Peacekeepers away. Clove looked at the door, her heart in her throat. If she knew anything about her father in light of the recent events, she could make a good guess as to why she was here, in front of this door, with her poor excuse of a brother.

When one of the Peacekeepers handed Aaron a black throwing knife, Clove instantly tensed.

Klaus kept a firm eye on both of his children as he yanked the door open, shoving his eldest son inside without a second thought.

"Clove?" Klaus held the door wide open as Aaron grinned maliciously.

"Why are you doing this?" Clove whispered, stopping in the doorway and looking back at her father one last time.

Klaus Easton's eyes were heartless as he nudged his youngest daughter into the room.

"Nobody comes out until one of you is dead."

The door slammed shut and the lock turned with a _click_.

* * *

**Short, short, I know. But the next chapter is going to be longer because I want to fit the whole fight scene in there.**

**Please Review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Here it is! Thanks for waiting for me guys! I've just been kind of busy with homework and Tumblr and RP-ing. **

**Love you, readers!**

**Disclaimer: Yeah...**

**Clove vs. Aaron!**

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Chapter 13

A millisecond passed where brother and sister stared at each other, eyes wide and cautious.

A millisecond that Clove used to her advantage; she streaked past her brother in an effort to get a head start. _It just wasn't fair_, Clove seethed, _the dick got a knife and I'm left weaponless._

In moments, she had scanned their surroundings and taken in possible refuges. The room looked exactly like an obstacle course, a maze, if you will. Walls and barricades and geometric shapes were littered across the floor; but no weapons.

The only weapon in the room was the one that Aaron held in his hand.

Aaron cursed as she ducked behind a random metal shape, trying to organize her thoughts and deal out a strategy. She had to get that knife away from him.

"I'm going to kill you, little sister!" Aaron's voice was vicious and loud in the cavernous room, "Come out, come out, little Clovey!"

She knew she could never take him in close-quarter combat. Clove crouched low behind the metal thing, listening for her brother's footsteps. Maybe she could catch him by surprise.

The room became silent, only disrupted when Aaron would knock over an obstacle to search for his sister. Clove tried to slow down her harsh breathing. _Just be still._

She flinched when Aaron roared, "CLOVE!"

"Just let me kill you, little sis!" Aaron laughed maniacally, "You've got nothing going for you, anyway. You're a pathetic little whore; couldn't even make it past the Tribute Tournament!"

Clove trembled with anger as she listened to her brother's taunts. He was as much of a failure as she was.

"And what about your stupid son-of-a-bitch lover?" He smashed through a few barricades, shoving them aside loudly, "Maybe after I kill you, Father will let me kill him, hmm?"

Clove couldn't take it anymore. She would never let Aaron _near_ Cato. With a screech, she leapt out from her hiding place, estimating where her stupid brother was making all that racket.

Brother and sister collided in a heap of jerking limbs.

They fell into a bigger metal barricade, the edge catching her shoulder so that she couldn't help but cry out in pain. Just as she'd hoped, the impact knocked the knife out of her brother's hand, sending it skidding across the floor a few feet away from where they were interlocked in a brutal struggle.

Aaron grunted as her knee sank into his stomach, one hand catching her right arm and twisting it harshly. Clove made a noise of pain before she raked her nails of her left hand across his face. Aaron jerked his head away, his face trickling with blood where she'd broken skin.

"Fuck!"

Her brother snarled, and with one hand cutting the circulation off her right arm, he pulled her off him, nearly crushing her into the floor as he rolled on top of her. His weight knocked the breath from her lungs, much like when she was wrestling with Cato.

Before she could even blink, the right side of her face exploded in fiery pain. _Holy fuck!_

"I am so going to enjoy your death, you little fucker." Aaron drew back his fist, knuckles covered in her blood.

Clove struggled to breathe through the blood streaming through her nose and mouth. _Damn_, that had _hurt_! She'd never been punched in the face before.

And then his hands were around her throat and for the second time in her life, she was getting choked to death. Having already experienced the pain once, Clove fought hard not to panic; the weight of his thumbs against her larynx was tortuous. She gasped for breath.

Aaron reached for the knife, keeping one of his large hands wrapped around Clove's small throat.

Trying to spit the blood from her mouth, she reached up blindly to get a purchase on her brother's shoulders. She couldn't breathe. Fire burned in her throat as she continued to struggle.

Finally, her fingers dug into his shoulder blades and with the greatest effort she'd ever mustered, Clove brought her brother's face down to smash her head into it.

Aaron howled in pain, his hands immediately flying to his face, nose dripping with blood. Her head throbbed and pounded from the impact and Clove was left reeling from torrents of pain. Released from the choke hold, Clove saw her opening and scrambled out from under her brother, blood swimming in her vision, fingers outstretched for the knife.

Aaron's bloody hand wrapped around her ankle, yanking her out of reach from the single weapon. Clove growled and twisted around as her brother dragged her backwards.

"Get your hands off me!"

Her brother wiped the blood from his face, clamping both hands down on her legs clumsily. Still dizzy from pain, Clove lashed out, her fist catching her brother on the side of his jaw. Aaron grit his teeth and gripping her ankles firmly, threw his little sister across the room.

Clove crashed into more barricades, the sound echoing dangerously. She moaned, lying in a heap, the places where she'd hit the metal throbbing painfully. Everything hurt and she coughed haphazardly; the pain was like a constricting ring around her throat.

She couldn't give up now.

Aaron stalked towards her fallen form, knife in hand, blood smeared across his face like a ghastly wound. His eyes were half-crazed and black with malice. She scrambled to stand up as he took a swipe with the knife. Clove expertly side stepped the danger and tried to wrestle the knife from his hand.

She dug her fingernails as hard as she could into his fist, the other hand going to claw his face. Knowing his little sister, Aaron intercepted her hand before it could get to his face and twisted it out of his way, fighting to get the knife away from her.

"Give me the damn knife!" Clove hissed as she jerked her hand out of the twist.

Blood dripped into her vision, blinding her for a moment. Aaron took advantage and pulled the knife away from her clawing hand. He tore open her side with one quick slash, shoving her to the ground mercilessly.

Clove almost screamed as Aaron raked the knife up her side and she fell to the floor, clutching her side, blood quickly pouring out of the gaping wound. Fury pounded alongside pain as she fought to stand her ground. Aaron advanced as she scrambled backwards, trying to stand on her own two feet.

The pain was blinding and ripping all at once. She couldn't die here, she just couldn't.

As a last ditch effort, Clove let out a war cry and threw all her body weight against her brother, wrapping her arms around his torso as she slammed him to the ground.

Aaron's head smashed against smashed into a large barricade and he lay, moaning and winded. The knife fell from his grip and Clove snatched it up almost desperately.

"You're going to die by my hand, brother." Clove said tonelessly, digging the black knife into side of his face, "I'm going to kill you, slowly and painfully, you sick bastard."

She crawled on top of her brother and without a thought, brought her knife down into his arm, blood gushing onto the pale, gray floor. Aaron choked in pain as she yanked the knife from his flesh and brought it down across his right wrist.

Aaron screamed; the sound horrible and blood-gurgling.

In her fury, Clove cut off his left hand too, raking her knife up his arm to cut in half. Her brother thrashed underneath her, his screams cut off as he choked on his own breath.

Clove was no longer thinking as she furiously mutilated her own brother. This Clove was dangerous and devastating.

This was the mindless killer her father had created.

And Clove hated it.

She trembled as she watched her brother's eyes, wide with fear and messy with blood. Her own blood dripped from her chin onto his black shirt, bleeding into the dark fabric. Aaron lay unmoving, waiting for his sister to deal the final blow.

She didn't want this, never like this. She had wanted to kill Aaron on her own terms, not because her father made it so.

Once again, Klaus was twisting her in his hands, forcing her to do whatever he said. She was her father's prisoner.

"Do it." Her brother spat out blood, voice shaking, "Kill me. Murder me. _Do it_."

She didn't want to be a monster.

"I hate you." Clove held the knife pointing downwards right above his heart, "I hate you so goddamn much."

Aaron Easton's eyes blazed with blood and dark insanity.

"You're too weak."

Clove screamed in pain and fury and humiliation, plunging the knife into her brother's heart.

_I am not weak. I am not weak. I am not a monster._

"I hate you! I hate you! _I hate you!_" Clove cried as she stabbed her brother again and again, trying in vain to hurt him as much as she was hurting.

Blood spilled onto the floor, a sickly bruised color against the pale gray.

Aaron Easton was dead.

And Clove Easton was torn in half by the darkness that death brought.

_I am the monster my father wanted me to be._

* * *

**I want to acknowledge that there might be a few spelling errors and grammatical errors in here because I typed this up very quickly. Thanks for understanding!**

** Okay, so you might all be confused as to the way Clove is feeling during this part. What I tried to incorporate in here is that Clove doesn't want to be a killer, at least not for her father. She hates that her father has made her into a murderer and although she really does want her brother dead, she doesnt want to kill him because their father put them in this situation. She hates the control and power her father has over her.

I'm not saying that Clove doesn't like killing or bloodshed. She can do that. But now that she's felt just a hint of warmth from her newfound relationship with Cato, she realizes that there's more in the world than just mindless bloodshed.

Clove just wants to be free to do what she wants. She doesn't want to be a pawn in her father's game. She doesn't want to be her father's man-made monster.

I hope this clears up some of the doubt and uncertainty, I don't really know how else to explain it.

This is just how Clove is.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello everyone!~ I'm so sorry I haven't update in a while because I was struggling a little with this chapter.**

**I wrote it really late last night so it's kind of rushed and not very well thought out.**

**The next chapter will expand on this more, I promise!**

**For now, thanks for sticking with me and I hope you really really enjoy this!**

**Don't forget to review, my darlings!**

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Chapter 14

Cato was anxious.

He'd never been anxious before; or worried, for that matter. But today, he was both anxious and worried. After he'd tried to see Clove yesterday without success and watching her get man-handled by her father through her bedroom window, he'd gone back to the Training Center, hoping maybe her dad had thrown her in there or something. But she hadn't shown.

He was worried about what was happening to her. Everything had blown up in their faces after the Tribute Tournament. They were supposed to have won that together and then go ahead and win the Hunger Games. It didn't matter that there could only have been one victor. They wouldn't think about that until the end. That was Cato and Clove, the best of the best.

He needed to see her desperately, just to know that she was alright. When he'd spotted her through the upstairs window, her eyes had been so empty, sad, and if he wasn't humoring himself, full of yearning. He'd seen her hand pressed against the window and the soft look in her eyes when he mouthed his nickname for her.

Oh damn.

Cato Braxton was developing feelings; for Clove Easton, to boot!

He raked his hands through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. The Training Center was closed now, but Cato had stayed just to clear his head by working out excessively. He couldn't get the image of Clove's death out of his head.

He'd killed her. _He'd killed her_.

Twice; Although the first time, it hadn't been real – he'd killed the Clove look-alike – and the second time hadn't been real either – it was all just a simulation. But he'd still done it.

_Clove_.

Cato hadn't realized how much he missed her until she wasn't there. He'd taken their training days for granted, where he saw her every day at the Training Center. He ached for her so deeply that the depth of this emotion left him bewildered and angry. He didn't understand how he could've fallen in love. People like him didn't love; at least not anymore.

Cato remembered with a deep-seeded and bitter anger his mother and unborn baby sister's deaths. He'd already lost so much and it had torn him apart in the worst way.

He didn't know how he would survive if he lost Clove too.

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Clove didn't react as somewhere, a door opened and moments later she was grabbed roughly by both arms and dragged away from the body of her dead brother; her brother, whom she'd killed.

She was locked away in her own mind, screaming silently as she raged in despair, anger, and confusion.

Aaron's blood stained her hands as her own blood dried against the skin of her wounds.

Someone wrapped up her knife wound with a roll of pristine, white gauze.

At one point, the confusion cleared and Klaus was standing in front of her, his hand heavy on her shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Clove."

She was numb.

Sometime later, she was left on the floor in her room with the door locked. Almost as if she were in a dream, Clove crawled to her bed and fell asleep, shivering in the darkness.

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[For those of you who need the reminder, this story is set in the three months between the Tribute Tournament and the actual 74th Hunger Games. That's 91 days and this next part occurs during the 10th day. IT HAS BEEN NINE DAYS SINCE THE TOURNAMENT ENDED.]

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Cato wasn't prepared when he arrived at the Training Center. He'd dreamed about the Tribute Tournament again and this left him considerably irritable.

So when he entered through the double doors of the Training Center and saw Clove standing in front of his mentors instead of Alison, he jerked to a stop and just stared.

Her beautiful dark brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, revealing the dark, purple bruise that stretched up the right side of her face and spread across the crown of her head and receded into her hairline. A ring of bruises that were suspiciously shaped like fingers covered both wrists and lightly tracked up her arms to disappear under the short sleeves of her training shirt.

When she turned to look at him as he entered, the light revealed the ugly black and red markings that covered her throat.

Her eyes were cold, with depressing bags underneath and filled with a muted agony that he didn't understand.

Cato crossed the room quickly, clenching his fists tightly to his sides so he wouldn't give in to the urge to smash the place apart. Anger and fury and horror raged inside his head as he raked his eyes over her bruised and battered body.

Someone had hurt her, badly.

And Cato was going to kill whoever was responsible. Nobody – _nobody – _laid a finger on _his_ Clove. Their mentors cut off their conversation when Cato approached them, looking at him expectantly, but he ignored them for the moment. He only had eyes for the beaten girl in front of him.

Her lips were pressed into a thin, white line and the muscles of her jaws were clenched so that the bruises appeared sharper as they stretched. He reached out and touched her jawline with his fingertips, feeling the raw, bruised skin as her eyes never left his.

The dark, forested green of her eyes that Cato admired so much was gone and in its place was a darkness that frightened him.

* * *

Clove was nervous and she was _never _nervous.

But today she was, because today was the first time she would see Cato since the disastrous Tribute Tournament.

She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him until she saw him standing in the doorway of the Training Center. She noticed the muscles straining in his forearms and felt the anger radiating from his huge form. Compassion for this young man that she'd unknowingly let into her heart flooded her body with a tingling heat as he approached her.

Brutus stopped talking as soon as he spotted Cato and Clove was relieved to hear the flow of words stop. She hadn't been listening to a thing he said. She was angry enough that she was here, of all places.

When Cato reached out and his warm fingers touched the stupid bruise across her face, she held her breath and never looked away from his brilliant blue eyes. She was surprised when she saw that they were full of pain and anger and….tenderness?

She saw his eyes tighten as they flickered down to the bruises around her neck. For a moment, they were both back in the arena, standing in front of each other with honest eyes.

"Cato!" Brutus barked, breaking both teenagers out of their trance, "You're late."

Clove stepped away, causing Cato's hand to fall back to his side where he clenched it in a shaking fist.

"What's she doing here?" he jerked his chin towards her and she watched him with narrowed eyes, "Where's Alison?"

"Clove is taking her place as of today." Enobaria smiled, a threat behind those sharp teeth.

Clove wanted to gouge the woman's eyes out.

Without any further discussion, the mentors separated their assigned volunteer tributes. Clove fell into the daily pattern she always did in the Training Center, only this time Enobaria yelled out criticisms every few seconds.

They trained for a long time. Knives, swords, physical fighting, poisons, climbing, anything and everything. By the end, Clove had forgotten everything _but_ the Hunger Games.

She wondered why Enobaria was taking the time to oversee her training when Cato had been the one to win the Tribute Tournament. By definition and victory, Cato was supposed to be getting the joint mentorship of both District Two mentors.

But it wasn't like they needed it.

Clove was born to kill.

Afterwards, she wasn't surprised when he barged into the women's locker room, hair damp from a shower and his jaw set in anger. She didn't know what to say to him as she stood in short and a T-shirt, ringing the water from her hair.

"Why are you here?" Cato nearly shouted, his masculine voice echoing off the tile walls, "Clove, what the hell happened?"

She replied in a flat voice, "Klaus got the Board to see what I was capable of."

She'd killed Aaron Easton, her own brother, and Klaus had made sure the Board was watching; only later had she learned that it had been a second trial of sorts. If she killed her brother, she could be volunteer tribute again. After all, who but a monster would kill their own family?

She was a monster.

"What did he do to you?" Cato's voice was barely a whisper but she could hear the underlying fury in his tone.

His voice was so unexpectedly gentle that Clove cracked, "He made me a monster, Cato. I killed Aaron."

She watched Cato carefully, waiting for the last person in her life to look at her in disgust and walk away. Then she would be truly alone. Her heart squeezed inside her chest as Cato's usually hard face softened and he reached out a hand.

"Oh, Kitten."

She caught his fingers and in that moment, she captured the humanity he had offered her.

He saved her.

Clove folded into his arms, face pressed into his broad chest as she shook uncontrollably. She could never remain cold in the arms that made her feel so safe.

"I killed him, Cato. I killed him." the words spilled from her lips without her knowing, "I'm a monster. I killed him. I wanted to kill him."

"Hey, hey, no look at me." Cato smoothed down her hair with one hand and rubbed her arm gently with the other to soothe her shaking, "You're not a monster. Look at me."

Clove raised her eyes as he captured her heart with his beautiful, cerulean blue eyes.

"You're not a monster. You're my kitten." Cato cupped the unbruised side of her face in one of his large hands, his skin warm against hers, "Your _my_ sweet, little Kitten."

And then he pressed his strong lips to hers so tenderly, so softly, that for the second time in ten years, Clove cried.

As Cato patiently held her sobbing body against his, kissing away the tears with gentle caresses of his lips, Clove wondered who this young man was. Who was this young man that held her heart, her soul, her humanity in his entire palm and held it so delicately? Who was this man that touched her skin with burning softness and looked at her with such compassion?

Clove knew the answer as he kissed her, ever so gently, to stop her flow of tears.

Cato Braxton was the boy - the man - that she had unknowingly and hopelessly fallen in love with.

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**Please please please remember to review! I welcome anything!**


	13. Chapter 13

**It's been too long, I know. And this chapter in no way makes up for the length of my absence. But it's been sitting on my computer for a while so I just thought "to hell with it" and uploaded this teeny little filler. Hopefully, I'll get around to writing the rest of it, but...man, it's been such a long time since I've written anything. **

**Sorry, my lovelies. If you're still with me, then R&R like there's no tomorrow!**

**(On a different note, the Host movie killed my life. Let's just say that I wish I'd gotten in a car accident on the way to the movie theater. Seriously. Life sucks. Flashpoint ended. But I also went to Europe! So that's a good thing!)**

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Chapter 13

She could still feel his lips on her face. So gentle. So warm. Unlike anything she'd ever experienced before.

"How did we get into this mess?"

Her voice was soft and a little raspy from all the crying. She looked down at her legs, sitting on her hands as her feet barely touched the floor from the bench she was sitting on. Cato leaned against one of the lockers, arms crossed against his muscular chest like always. He didn't answer her, just watched as she bit her lip and let her hair fall across her face as she sniffled. She'd finished crying some time ago and felt a little disgusted with herself at such a display of weakness. But it was Cato watching, not any of the other devils in District 2.

"How do we get out of this mess?"

She didn't expect an answer. He was thinking; she could see that. And so was she. Everything that happened between them and to them in the past weeks had warped and twisted and remolded their world. Nothing was the same anymore.

They weren't the same anymore.

Cato sighed then, and came to sit by her side, where he had been when she was crying. He didn't hug her, or try to hold her like he did earlier. That was then. He just sat next to her like a companion, letting her soak in his presence. Before, she had felt like it was her against the world, against her father, against the devil. But now, she suspected it was different; Different because she wasn't the same. She had someone who –dare she say it – loved her.

Maybe?

Clove wasn't really ready to understand the feelings that she'd come to experience, but she was ready to wield this passion for an entirely different purpose. She had something to fight for. Something worth fighting for.

"Clove."

His voice was so deep and comforting.

"Clove, look at me."

She rubbed her eyes a little, stalling. She knew what he wanted to say next was important; he'd stayed so silent just thinking. She was so confused with everything that had surfaced along with these feelings. What was he going to say?

"Look at me." His voice was harder this time, more demanding. But nothing like her father's voice; Nothing like Aaron's. It wasn't a threat.

She did. Forest met ocean and the world's stability solidified just a bit more.

"We can do it." His voice was so earnest and his expression so determined, she knew he believed it. "We can do anything."

She responded appropriately, like she knew he wanted. "_Together_."

He nodded, eyes shining in the bright, whining lights of the locker room. "_Always_, Kitten."

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**I know it's not much. But...it's a little wrap up from the scene in the last chapter. It's a cleanup chapter. Ugh.**

**Sorry.**


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